


Yoobies

by Kiiratam



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alleged Poetry, Canon Compliant, F/F, Fluff and Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:34:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21592357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiiratam/pseuds/Kiiratam
Summary: Yang's boobies, or Yoobies. A poem, written by [redacted], and read by Blake Belladonna.Takes place between Volumes 2 and 3. (My BMBLB fic index)
Relationships: Blake Belladonna/Yang Xiao Long
Comments: 22
Kudos: 76





	Yoobies

I dare not stare lest she think me a rube  
Her golden hair, bright-shining o'er the sun,  
She struck Grimm down, fell deeds with fist, shotgun.  
Bereft of noun, here I stand like a newb,  
My load is spent, nothing left in the tube.  
Her cry, 'get bent', rocket angel inbound.  
The 'wolves maws loom, I stumble, hapless goob.  
But lo! 'wolves' doom - to churchyard bells she wound  
And cleaned their clock, and here lie I, soul-rapt.  
I want to knock, at the doors of her heart,  
Love smothers me, peaks of joy stay unmapped.  
Tis not to be, though love tear me apart.  
Laid low by fang, and gems beyond rubies,  
I croak 'girl dang', at the sight of Yang's boobies.

_Listening to it was **definitely** worse than just reading it,_ Yang decided.

  
"Now **that's** poetry!" Blake lowered the sheet of paper, grinning like a maniac.

  
_I have confirmed that I can't charge my Semblance with embarrassment._ "Can I go crawl into bed and die, now?"

  
"Yang, you didn't tell me that it was a _sonnet_! That's - you ought to post this on your wall! _I_ never got a sonnet. I don't think even _Weiss_ got a sonnet! " Blake added, in a stage whisper, "That's how she knew Jaune's crush on her wasn't true love. He did the serenade, but missed the sonnet. Can't be true love without sonnets."

  
Yang guessed that crawling into bed and dying was out. Blake was having _way_ too much fun. Which, the non-mortified part of her brain noted, from deep within its bunker in an undisclosed location, was definitely a good thing. Anything that distracted Blake from the revelation of the Bellabooty. Yang really hadn't meant for that to slip out, but there was no taking it back now. Plus, Blake, actually having fun. Smiling, laughing - it was almost worth the crippling embarrassment. 

  
At least Blake had done her dramatic reading in team RWBY's room. While no one else was there. With the door and windows closed. And, miracle of miracles, Weiss hadn't walked in during the middle of Blake's recitation. Or Ruby. Ruby would have been much worse. Because she probably would have thought it was hilarious too.

  
Blake dropped into bed next to Yang, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "Come on, it's not _that_ bad. Did you actually save their life?"

  
"Yeah. I was just wearing my regular clothes, though. They make it sound like I was in a micro-bikini or something." Yang looked over at Blake, hoping to get a least a little bit of sympathy.

  
Instead, she was just blinking rapidly, starring off into the distance.

  
_Aaaaaand she's off in fantasy-land. Not that I really mind the thought of her picturing me in a lot less. At least it's a slightly different flavor of awkward._

  
_I may as well have my fun while I can._

  
Yang tugged on the bottom of her shirt, arched her back a little bit, and crossed her arms. "What do you think, Blake? Are these really worth a sonnet?"

  
Blake, already slightly boobstruck, fell right into her trap. Especially since she still had her arm over Yang's shoulder, and so was in an absolute perfect position to mount a visual spelunking expedition into Yang's cleavage. Eyes wide, she swayed back and forth.

  
It wasn't like Yang minded lust eyebeams. But actually getting Blake to be this blatant - it felt really good. She wondered if Blake would go any further and try to touch. Or kiss her. Yang _did_ want to give Blake as much time and space as she needed... but she also figured that a little nudge every so often wouldn't hurt. 

  
Admittedly, Yang knew she was nudging pretty hard right now. Harder than she probably should. She didn't know what would happen if Blake-

  
"Lost in my shadows,/ drawn forth from my home to yours,/ basking in your light."

  
-poetry? "Uh, Blake?" _Did she just make that up?_

  
"Huh?" Blake raised her gaze, eyes wide open, glorious and golden.

  
"Haiku?"

  
"What? Did I-?" And now she was blushing about as much as Yang had been earlier. 

  
"Are you writing poetry about me?"

  
"...No?" She sighed. "Maybe...?" Blake withdrew her arm from around Yang's shoulder, and buried her face in her hands. "...Yes."

  
Yang swallowed. It was a lot more meaningful when she actually cared about the poet. "...I liked it."

  
It wasn't enough to make Blake unhide her face. But she did say, in a small voice, "...thank you."

  
"Even if you didn't compare my boobs to bell-clappers, or door-clappers, or whatever."

  
"Knockers."

  
"Yup. Though I do remember someone asking if I could clap with my boobs."

  
Eyeing Blake, Yang decided that her strategy of 'share vaguely embarrassing, vaguely sexual stuff from my personal history' wasn't really working. Blake really seemed to have a problem with being put unexpectedly on display - whether it was herself or her poetry. At least part of it was her trying to hide from the White Fang, but she just - didn't really like to share herself. Yang tried not to think about why that was, even though she could feel an answer in the pit of her stomach. Because Blake hadn't been allowed to be herself, so she hid herself entirely. And from the pages of her novels, her sketchbooks, and class notes, and everything else, Blake was starting to emerge again.

  
"Hey, Blake?" Yang waited for a response, even if she wasn't really expecting one. "If you ever want someone to read your stuff, or admire your art, or listen to your poetry... I'm right here."

  
Her friend raised her eyes just enough to glance at her, then hurriedly back down at the floor. She nodded.

  
They sat quietly for a few moments, with Yang clamping down trying her best not to blurt out something to fill the silence. Blake had acknowledged her offer. Whether she'd ever take her up on it was something else, but - Blake knew.

  
Finally, Blake broke their silence. "Do you- write at all?"

  
Yang shook her head. "Just essays. I like reading, but I-" she turned up her hands, "-the words just come out all clumpy and awful when I try. I can't make them sing like Bumblebee." _Or like the instruments that I don't have time to keep up on. They're still back on Patch, because I knew that staring at them would just stress me out because I don't have time to practice._ "If you want an editor, I'm probably the wrong person. But if you just want someone else to look at it, and be a sounding board for you... I can do that. Or just talk about it."

  
_Or us. Since you're apparently writing poetry about... whatever 'us' is._

  
_I'm pushing too far. Slow down, Yang. She shouldn't have to flash the hand signal. I need to pay attention to her._

  
She could tell she was talking a bit too fast to be normal. "But anyway, the really bad thing about the whole 'yoobies' poem? It wasn't the only one."

  
Blake actually lifted her head again.

  
"It turns out that _several_ other people saw the poem before I did, and apparently a bunch of them got inspired, or really wanted to tease me, or _something_ , because for a week or so, I kept finding new poems on the theme of my yoobies. They got bored after that, but they were my yoobies for the rest of my time at Signal." Yang pulled her scroll out. "I must have pictures of some of the other poems on here..." She glanced back at Blake, whose grin was slowly coming back. "Some of them were even pretty good. I mean, _apart_ from the great source material." Yang shifted a little, making sure Blake had a good view of said material if she cared to take a look. And kept scrolling through her scroll's old pictures.

**Author's Note:**

> Flexor had a sonnet in the comments to the story prior to this, [which I'm linking here because I love it.](https://archiveofourown.org/comments/264758893)


End file.
